The Line
by CardioQueen
Summary: You dragged me across that line. Spoilers from 03.08, and insight of my own.
1. Chapter 1

You Drug Me Across the Line

We don't lie together anymore.

We used to be inseparable in our sleep. It used to be something I could count on after a trying day at work. It used to be something that made everything better.

"George knows." I whisper from my side of the bed.

He seems so far away.

Not just physically, but emotionally as well.

I see his eyes open and doesn't even turn to look at me, but panic is painted across his expression.

"Are you going to say anything?" I ask him incredulously as he turns to his side, facing away from me.

"There's nothing to be said, Cristina." He sighs, "You need sleep. You have surgery tomorrow."

I feel like he's reached out and smacked me. Actually, I think it would hurt less if he had done that.

Nonetheless, I don't respond, and I turn onto my side, close my eyes, and try to sleep.

Sleep never comes easy anymore.

Getting ready for work doesn't come easy anymore.

We used to be silly, dancing while brushing our teeth, barely able to keep our hands off of each other while dressing. Now? We do it in silence, and we don't even cast a sideways glance at each other.

The ride to work is almost painful, and arriving at work is chilly and detached.

We used to duck off to the side of the building and trade passionate kisses and gropes before work.

Now he can't get away from me fast enough.

Especially since we spend most of our day together, though we don't ever connect.

George has cornered me several more times. I assure him that everything is fine.

I spend most of my time dodging Bailey and O'Malley.

Then around 10, Burke pages me to the on-call room.

What is this? I think to myself, grinning. Maybe things are starting to look up.

I slide into the on-call room and see him standing against the bunk, his arms crossed.

He doesn't look happy at all.

"You paged me?" I ask, turning the lock until I hear it's satisfying click.

"We need to talk."

"About what?" I ask, sliding into the bottom bunk, crossing my arms over my stomach.

I feel sick.

"O'Malley knows." he hisses at me. "He knows, which means that you told him!"

"No! He saw you fishing. He saw that you were tremoring..." I trail off. "I told you that you shouldn't of gone!" I finally snap.

"You didn't want me to go because you wanted to do _surgery._"

"I didn't want you to go because I didn't want this...exactly this to happen."

"Well, it's happening, and now you have a valve replacement to do, Dr. Yang. That's what you want, isn't it? To take over my life, to take over my career."

"Dr. Yang? Burke...what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I'm _fine._"

I've never heard so much anger in his voice...but there's something else there.

Desperation?

"We can get someone else to do the surgery...someone else can do the valve replacement, and then George's dad will be fine. We don't have to worry about this."

"You've made your bed Cristina, now you're going to lie in it." he mutters, turning away from me.

I'm left speechless I don't know what to say.

There's so many things I'm feeling, contradictory to George's evaluation that I'm a robot. I'm scared, and I'm anxious, and I'm hurt...

I love this man. How can he say these things to me?

Does he hurt like I do?

"Burke, we've crossed the line. But we have a chance. We can stop this insanity right now...nobody has gotten hurt, and I want to keep it that way."

I lie when I say nobody has gotten hurt, because I have.

"You drug me across that line, Cristina. You're the one who wanted Preston Burke, you're the one who figured out how I could still operate, you're the one who started scheduling surgeries left and right. You're the one who started taking over the surgeries, you're the one who is so prepared as an _intern_ that you make me look pathetic. I shouldn't feel inferior to you! You drug me across that line!" he yells at me.

I look down and see a tear land on my baby blue scrubs, I'm so numb I can't even feel myself cry.

"You drug me across that line." I mumble, not looking at him.

"What?" he scoffs.

"You drug me across that line. When I started this program, I wouldn't have ever fallen in love with my boss. When I started this program, I would've reported you to the chief. When I started this program, I wouldn't have put my internship at jeopardy for a _man_. For a friend. For a lover. I wouldn't have put this at jeopardy for anyone. You drug me across that line. This is your doing. You made this person, now you have to deal with _me._ You made me weak, you made me care, you made me human, and now you're going to have to deal with it, Burke."

He doesn't respond. He doesn't even reach out to me.

"We scrub in 5 minutes. I'm doing the surgery." he mutters, heading towards the door.

"But Burke.." I stammer, grabbing his hand, trying to pull him back.

He jerks it away from me, and it's like a knife through my heart.

"I'm doing the surgery, Dr. Yang. You will stand across the table from me, and you will assist from there. I'm doing the cutting, I'm doing the suturing, and you? You'll hold the retractors as any intern would do." he reiterates to me in a cold tone of voice I've never heard before.

I sit back down in the bunk as he walks out the door, my eyes stinging from tears I won't allow to spill.

I found him in this call room.

And now?

I feel like I've lost him in this call room.

TBC

A/N: My muse is alive and kicking, and I felt like a multipart story. I'm sorry for such a short chapter. I just want to thank everyone at More Than Coffee for the support! I'm so flattered and I don't even know what to think! I just figured I was a mediocre writer getting my frustrations out in words. Thank you SO much:)


	2. Chapter 2

I walked out on her.

For the first time in our relationship, I have walked out on her.

The hallways seem darker, the people seem quieter than they used to.

When the relationship was new, and fresh, and we didn't have these...issues, everything seemed better to me.

Life was better.

But now, that's all gone, and all we have is raw emotions; anger, lust, fear, anxiety.

They run our lives.

They dictate our relationship.

I want the newness, the freshness of it all back.

She has taken over everything that I had before her. My career, my life, my apartment.

Nothing is my own anymore.

I share it with her.

That's commitment, though. Right?

I don't know what I'm doing here.

I still love her. Couldn't live without her. That's not an option.

But I long for normalcy again.

I reach the scrub room, where George is standing outside of the door, waiting to question me about my hands.

He does. I tell him I'm fine.

And he doesn't believe me.

I don't believe me.

I excuse myself from the conversation, and I grab a package of the povidone 4.5 and pull it open.

I love the scent of the scrub room. It's so clean. Sterile.

It's where you wash away all the filth that you carry with you, and free yourself from anything that you wouldn't want to carry on to someone else.

If only they had scrub rooms for the soul.

The water is warm on my hands, but my anxiety levels are so high that the droplets feel like needles puncturing the backs of my hands one right after another.

I look down at them, and I notice that I am already starting to tremble.

Cristina looks over my shoulder, "Burke, I can do this."

"I am not going to have you responsible for O'Malley's father's condition. He is my patient, and I will be operating."

"Back down, Burke." she urges me. There is urgency and frustration in her voice, "Back down while our record is still clean. This is George's dad we're talking about."

"I can do this, Cristina." I reply, trying to convince myself.

I don't allow the conversation to finish, and I back out of the scrub room doors into the OR giving her a threatening glance.

The scrub nurse meets me with a blue towel and I dry my hands.

Normally at this point, power and importance surge through my veins with that egoism that made me who I am today.

Now? Anxiety and tensions have halted my heart beat.

I can feel myself slip before I have even started.

Cristina glances up at me nervously as I make my initial incision. It's not the incision that's hard.

It's the sutures.

But I'm not there yet. I'm not push myself into a further darkness.

"Dr. Burke, is there anything I can help you with?" she questions me, sending me a look of worry and despair through her expressive almond eyes.

"I will tell you when I need you to retract the chest wall, Dr. Yang, and not a moment before...now please, stop talking to me, I need to devote my full attention to Mr. O'Malley." I am curt with her, and I see the hurt in her eyes.

Thirty minutes flies by in what seems like milliseconds, and I find myself staring at a leaking aorta.

The man wouldn't have lasted another day.

I go to suture the tear that the cancer has eaten away, and my hand starts to tremor lightly.

"Dr. Burke..."

"Dr. Yang." I cut her off, "You're not holding the retractors correctly. Do you want me to kill this man?"

"No sir." she replies, looking down at herself in the shiny steel retractors.

I begin to suture once again, and for the first few placements, I am steady and strong, and I begin to regain confidence.

Then I nick his left anterior descending artery, sending a fountain of blood towards Cristina.

"Shit!" I curse under my breath, "Dr. Yang, suction, now! Faster!"

And all hell breaks loose.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm covered in the blood of George's father. I'm covered in his blood.

Burke is sitting on the wooden two by four we call a bench, staring at my locker.

And I'm covered in the blood of George's father.

I turn on the shower to drown out the sound of my tears, and I slowly strip the powder blue scrubs soaked with the indiscretion of keeping secrets from my trembling body.

Tears mix with lukewarm water as I try to rinse off the guilt, rinse off the hurt, rinse off the pain.

I hear the shower curtain pull back and I look up to see him, but his expression is unreadable.

"Burke, I'm sorry." I whisper, turning away from him, as I continue to clean up, "You can go home..."

I hear his shirt hit the ground, and I feel his hands on my shoulders, then I feel his arms enfold my body, and the tears begin to fall more freely.

"I'm sorry, Burke..." I weep softly. "I'm so sorry."

"You didn't call her." he whispers, placing a kiss on my shoulder.

Her.

That bitch.

That woman.

That woman that saved George's dad from the brink of death that Burke and I took him to.

He rinses the blood from my neck, the strands of hair where it splattered, and we get out of the shower, I glance down at him as I wrap up in a towel.

"Your pants are all wet now." I sigh.

"They're just pants, Cristina." he reassures me.

Nothing is right today. This is all wrong.

When can I wake up from this?

Our call room conversation haunts my mind.

The baby, the shooting, the tremors, they all saturate my mind like the blood that saturates the scrubs in my hands.

Can't he seem I'm trying?

He slides a strand of wet hair from my forehead then trails his hand down my cheek sending shivers down my spine.

"I'm...I'm on call tonight." I mutter.

"I can stay with you."

"You need your rest. You should go home." I mumble.

"You're pushing me away." he persists.

"What do you expect?" I snap, throwing my shirt down. "Because you seem to expect me to be riding your coattails in this relationship. You expect me not to feel hurt, or anger or anxiety, or any emotions at all. I'm just the robot, right? Right, Burke?"

He doesn't reply.

He can't even look me in the eye.

"You said it all right there."

I pull my shirt over my head, and turn on my heel to exit the room.

"You've never even said that you love me, Cristina. What am I supposed to think?"

I stop, my hand frozen on the door, "This has nothing to do with what I have, or haven't said. Don't try to blame this on me."

"You don't seem to feel anything! You don't seem upset about us, you don't seem upset about what's happened today, you're the same cold, complacent Cristina that you've always been!" he spits, out, pulling at my arm. "Stay here and talk to me."

I do the only thing I know to do in this situation. I grab the back of his head and I kiss him. Hard. Passionate. Meaningful. I put all of the turmoil of the day, all of the pain of the day, everything, I put into the kiss.

It's still not the same that it used to be.

It's not the same way it used to feel.

The spark has faded.

We have faded.

"Can't you ever just talk to me?" is the only thing he says when we pull apart, and I rest my head upon his chest.

"I don't know how." I mumble. "I don't know how to get through to you."

"That makes two of us."

I stand back and look at him.

"You need to figure this out. I'm tired...I'm tired of carrying all of this on my back." he states matter-of-factly, as if we were talking about a business agreement.

It's eerily reminiscent of when he broke it off with me.

I kiss him, and he accuses me of making him shoulder the entire relationship.

"I can't talk right now. I'm on call." I mumble, and I jerk the door open and walk away.

I walk away from the fight.

I walk away from him.

I walk away from us.

I just need to clear my head.


	4. Chapter 4

She walked out that door again.

Again and again she turns her back on me.

Again and again, my heart aches for something in her to finally snap, for the light bulb to finally come on, and for her to walk back in.

But she doesn't.

I rationalize that she's hurt, that I've hurt her.

But she had all of the control.

She took my life.

She took my career.

She stole my heart.

I try to rationalize leaving her.

But I can't bring myself to it.

The thought of not having her in my bed every night, not seeing her fly out the door every morning, not seeing her stumble into the door every evening...

I can't think of that.

It's much too much.

I open her locker out of curiosity, just to remind myself why I love her, perhaps.

The yellow scrub cap drops to the floor, and I pick it up, thinking back to that time in our relationship. I hang it on the hook inside the door, and I find the note I left her with the key taped to the door.

She never fails to surprise me.

There's a coffee cup that seems a bit old, but familiar. It couldn't be that cup. It's probably just trash she threw out.

But she did say she couldn't throw stuff away. I wonder...

There's some scrubs, and tennis shoes, and a package of new underwear, minus a couple pair. There's a package of new socks as well, unopened.

Text books are stacked up in the bottom of the locker.

All about cardiothoracic surgery, no doubt.

How could I be so blind.

There's caffeine pills, 2 bottles. Make that 3, but one is empty.

There's journal articles about different kinds of sutures to use in CABGs.

I dragged her across the line with me.

She didn't drag me across that line.

I close the locker, gently at first, and when I hear the click that signifies that it's closed, I slam my open hand against it. No point in making worse what is already bad.

"Dammit!" I yell, hitting it again. I need to talk to her.

My heart is racing, as are my thoughts.

I need to talk to her.

I place my hand on the cold steel handle of the door and let out a long exhale, and pull it open.

She's standing there, her hand out as if she were reaching for the door.

She looks scared.

"Cristina?" my voice is hopeful.

"I, uh...I'm not on call tonight. Bailey took me off the call schedule. I don't know what's going on, but my name isn't on...it isn't on the call schedule." she rambles, there are tears welling in her eyes.

"Let's go.." I fear the worst.

"Burke, I don't know. I don't know what's going on. She won't return my calls, nobody will tell me what's going on." she continues, her voice is trembling, her skin pale.

"Let's go home, Cristina." I urge her, my arm around her shoulder.

"I can't go home. I was supposed to be on call." She's panicking.

"We're going to go home and call Bailey, okay?" I try anything I can do to persuade her.

She nods, and I pull her close, as if protecting her from unseen threats, "Okay...okay. We can fix this, right? We can fix this?"

I look down to her in a curt nod, "We can fix the call schedule. We'll go to the Chief and talk to him."

"That's not what I meant." she mumbles as we arrive at the car.

"Cristina..." I'm left speechless by her.

"Because, if I'm off the call schedule, that probably means I've either been kicked out of the program or they're Izzietracking me. And there are two things I have to have in my life, surgery and you. And if I can't have surgery to keep my mind off of things, if I can't go into the OR to think, I can't lose you. Because those two things are what keep me sane."

I close my eyes, and my heart surges with excitement. Maybe she's coming around. "We can fix this...but it's not going to be easy."

"I know it's not easy. We've both made some mistakes. And we've both done some...things that we regret. But we have to fix this." she repeats again, taking my hands into hers.

I kiss her forehead, "We can fix this."

She nods, and then slides into her seat of the car, and I close the door.

Just when I think I have her figured out.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm lying in bed, shivering.

I'm not physically ailing.

I'm wearing pajamas and covered by blankets.

But I'm cold.

He says I'm cold.

I hear him yelling, "This is not her fault...no, this isn't her fault."

It is too.

I hear him protest, "I'm the attending. I'm accountable."

So am I.

I hear him claim, "It was all my idea."

He's lying.

I hear him give up, "I understand. Yes...yes, I'll tell her."

He has bad news.

He creeps in the room, and I want to pretend that I'm asleep, but I can't bring myself to do it.

"Cristina, we need to talk." he mumbles, sitting on my side of the bed.

I sit up slowly, searching his expression for any indication of what I'm about to hear. "Talk." I reply slowly.

"They've...they've placed us on leave. For an undetermined amount of time." he looks down at his hands. "I'm sorry that I did this to you."

"I did it to us. You're not responsible for this. Maybe you're right. Maybe I dragged you across the line. If I would've stopped, and listened." I'm rambling.

I'm desparate.

I need to hear that this isn't all my fault.

He pulls me close and kisses my forehead, "We are a team. We crossed the line." he whispers, quoting my own words to me from earlier in the day.

I look up to him, "We are a team." I nod.

He presses his lips against mine in a soft and steady kiss.

But I need more.

I kiss him harder, pushing him back onto the bed.

He falls back with ease. "Cristina..."

I shush him, placing my hands on the side of his face, kissing him again, this is what I crave.

"Cristina..." he mumbles, his hand trembling on my shoulder.

I grab his hand, interlacing my fingers in his, and continue kissing him.

His hand slides up my back, under the pink tank top that he loves so much, and I feel him growing erect underneath me.

He begins to kiss my neck and chest, and I throw my head back, baring more skin for him to spread kisses over.

This is so right.

But there are things, I can't stop thinking of.

I keep trying to focus on him.

Focus on the sex.

But my mind is racing.

His hand is tremoring.

He's pulling my shirt off.

There's so much blood.

I feel him roll over on top of me. I pull him back down.

I need to kiss him again.

Kissing him is like breathing to me.

And I just need to breathe.

I need to breathe to get through this.

But I can't get my mind off of it.

The blood.

The secret.

The crime.

The punishment.

I feel him enter me, and my body tenses.

We're making love.

And I'm numb to it.

We should be talking, not having sex.

But that's how we've always addressed our feelings, isn't it?

Physical.

Not emotional.

I'm cold.

I'm emotionally bankrupt.

Tears form in the corners of my eyes, and I squeeze them shut, hoping he won't notice.

I kiss him again.

Just breathe.

I fake it for him so that he can get it overwith.

What is wrong with me?

What is wrong with us.

He brushes his lips against my shoulder, then my neck, and I kiss him again.

I'm breathing.

"Burke..." I whisper, a tear sliding from my eye.

"Yeah?" he mumbles, his hand slowly sliding up and down my spine.

"I love you."


	6. Chapter 6

She said I love you.

She actually said it.

But she was crying.

I don't understand why she was crying.

This woman continues to astound and confuse me to no ends.

I hear the shower stop and steam rolls from the door as she pulls it back, and steps out in a towel.

She's so beautiful.

"Burke...Burke, I have to tell you what I did. What's going on."

I'm taken aback, and my blood has run cold.

I instinctively know what she's going to say.

"You called Dr. Hahn." I mumble, sitting up in the bed.

She nods, wide eyed, tears of guilt masked by the water droplets from the shower.

"Why?" I manage to choke out.

"I wanted to protect you." she whispers.

"To protect me...to protect me?" I repeat, "From who, were you trying to protect me?"

She cokes back tears and sits on the bed next to me, sliding a hand onto my shoulder. "From yourself." she mumbles. "I didn't know what to do, and George told me if I didn't fix it that he was going to out you to Webber...and I didn't know what to do..."

I push her away, "You could've talked to me." I spit at her.

"Burke, I tried...I tried to talk to you. I told you that I was sticking, I told you we were a team, but you were nothing but irrational...", she cries to me.

She's crying.

That should be a sign for me, but I keep going.

"I'm irrational? I'm irrational? Let's review this...had you been the one to accept the fact that I couldn't operate, we wouldn't have been in this position. If you would've been the one to accept me as a man, and to remember that we're people first and not surgeons, we wouldn't have been in this position. If you would've quit being stubborn, and irritable, and ignorant of my problems, we wouldn't have been in this position." My voice gradually raises until I'm screaming at her.

She looks down at the floor, silently weeping, "Burke, I didn't know what to do. I didn't want George's dad to die."

"If you would've held the vessel steadily, we wouldn't have had a problem in surgery!" I snap.

Images of blood splattering her face haunts my memory.

Her hands drop to her light, "I failed you as an intern...but as a girlfriend...as the woman who...who..."

"You can't even say it again!" I interrupt her, "As the woman who's _supposed _ to love me, you failed me more!"

"I saved you! I saved us! We could've lost our careers if I hadn't of called her!"

I raise my hand to motion at the door, "Go." I whisper.

"What?" she asks, looking up in shock.

"Get out of my apartment. Get dressed and get out. I don't want to see you."

She stands in shock, everything is moving in slow motion. "Burke...Burke, don't do this."

"Get out of my apartment." I repeat, strong and steady.

My heart aches.

I don't really want her to go.

But my psyche is pushing for it.

I stand over her as she pulls on her clothes.

She has gone from crying to sobbing. It's reminiscent of when she lost our baby that she had no intention of telling me of.

She just can't control it.

That's what she gets for bottling her feelings.

She grabs her keys off of the counter as I follow her to the door.

I don't know why I followed her, it's just something automatic.

She turns to face me with a red tear streaked face and desperation in her eyes, and she kisses me.

Not too hard.

Not too soft.

Just a sweet, perfect, kiss.

The spark is there.

It's dim in the anger, frustration and hurt.

But the spark is there.

I push her back, "Please leave." I mumble.

"Burke."

"Cristina, you betrayed me. I need time to think about this."

"Where am I supposed to go? Back to the hospital? I'm on probabtion."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out." I mutter, closing the door in her face.

Closing the door on the woman I love.

Closing the door on a chapter of my life.

A/N: My angsty personality had to make up for the fluff. It will get better. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

It's cold out here.

It's cold out here where he left me.

The drive to Meredith's is long, and I take several detours around various neighborhoods.

I get pulled over twice.

The first time the officer told me it was suspicious and I apologized, and he let me go.

The second time I told the officer that my boyfriend, or whatever, just kicked me out of our apartment and that I'm trying to wait until the last possible moment to drive to my friends' house because my friend is happy with her boyfriend and she's superficial and shallow and that she doesn't want to hear about my deep problems.

He let me go a little more quickly that time.

I stopped to get coffee, and ended up with Diet Coke.

I can't even drink coffee without thinking about him.

"Damn him." I mutter, sipping the soda.

It's not what I want.

I want Burke.

I want to be Dr. Cristina Yang again.

I used to be that intern.

The intern that everybody knew my name.

The intern that knew had all the answers.

The intern that everyone came to whenever they didn't know the answer.

The intern that nobody wanted to be stuck with because there was no way they could outshine me.

The intern with the heart of steel.

The intern that had it all together.

But I wasn't human.

Just an intern.

I long for that to come back to me.

He broke me.

At about 4:30 I pull into Meredith's driveway and I see Izzie staring out the window at my car as I sit there.

I can't cry anymore. The tears have finally dried up.

Thank God, because the last time it happened, they had to give me ativan to help me stop.

I trudge towards the door whenever I see Meredith open it up. "Can I sleep here today?" I mumble.

She doesn't even ask, she just nods.

It takes every muscle in my body to pull myself up the stairs towards her bedroom, and I pay no attention to George or Izzie who stare at me with open gaped mouths.

As I fall into Meredith's bed, a part of me dies.

It's the first time that I've slept in a bed besides the call room and our bed in a year.

It's the first time I've slept without him when one of us hasn't been on call. And many times, we've slept together then as well.

Even when he was in the hospital, I slept with him at least once.

Maybe it was only once.

He broke me.

I can't quit thinking about him.

My edge is gone.

He dragged me across the line from surgeon to human.

He made me weak.

He made me someone who cares.

No more.

I'm not going to be that girl anymore.

I begin to ponder what it is that I need to do to get back in with Bailey and the Chief.

A normal woman would ponder what it is that they needed to do to fix their relationship.

I was that woman last night, and this is where it got me.

God, my thoughts are all over the place.

I just need to sleep.

I need to sleep, and I need to think later.

I can see the sun rising. A new day has begun in the hospital.

Without me.

And it's his fault.

I roll over in Meredith's bed to face the wall as the sun begins to shine into the room.

Of all the days for it to be sunny in Seattle it's today.


	8. Chapter 8

What have I done?

I look over to her empty side of the bed, and I feel empty inside.

What have I done?

I pushed her out the door.

I pushed her out of my life.

Maybe for good.

She was trying to protect me from myself, and once again, I couldn't face up.

I couldn't shoulder the responsibility for my own actions.

Blame is a convenient creature.

A creature of habit.

A creature of necessity.

A creature I'm familiar with.

I was Preston Burke.

Preston Burke was untouchable, perfect, guiltless.

Then I met her.

I fell in love with her.

And she changed me.

Maybe for the better.

Maybe not.

She challenges me.

She confuses me.

She makes me second guess myself.

She's there when I need her in a way that's uncommon.

'I won't bear a grudge.' I told her.

It was like I was telling her it was okay to walk away.

I should've said, 'I need you.'

I pause for a moment, running my hand over the cold empty spot she left in my bed.

In my heart.

Immediately I sit up and my heart begins to race.

"I have to get her home." I mumble. "I have to get her back."

My mind begins to race.

I threw her out of my apartment, my heart, my life for the same thing I've been doing since I got shot.

Because she couldn't tell me what she wanted in a straight forward manner, clinical, cold, textbook explanation.

I complained of her 'emotional shortcomings'.

The very same emotional shortcomings that I myself have.

How could I be so stupid?

I frantically grab my keys off the kitchen counter and race out the door.

My heart is pounding.

I am Preston Burke.

A stubborn, cold, complacent man who pushed away the last positive thing in his life.

I am Preston Burke.

A man with a heart of steel, a man who is unaffected by tragedy. A selfish man who couldn't learn to be selfless at the expense of the woman he loves.

I am Preston Burke no more.

My breath quickens as I reach the door of Meredith's house. It's the only place she could be.

Through the Victorian glass doors, I see George scampering about, and he freezes when he takes notice of me.

He opens the door cautiously, and Meredith appears beside him.

"Don't you think you've done enough this morning?" she spits at me, a disgusted look painted upon her mousey features.

"I need to talk to her."

I try to step into the door, but George places himself in front of me.

"O'Malley, I am not a violent person, but if you don't remove yourself from the path that leads me to Cristina, I cannot be sure of the acts I may commit." I mumble in a low and threatening tone.

"You can't hurt her again. She may be a little weird sometimes, and she may be indifferent, but she is my friend, and I don't let my friends get hurt." he says in a trembling voice.

He's obviously intimidated.

I give him a curt nod and he moves out my way.

"She's in the last door on the left." he mutters at me, obviously upset at my words.

"George!" Meredith hisses, slapping her tiny hand into his side.

"Stay out of it, Grey." I call back down the stairs as I race up them.

I reach the door to the room that contains the love of my life and my hand tremors as I reach for the antique brass knob.

With a slight squeak and a low click the door opens and I find her sprawled out on the bed, still in jeans and a pink tank top, her leather jacket strewn across the side of the bed.

I instinctively pick it up and set it neatly at the foot of the bed, and lie down next to her.

"Cristina." I say in a hushed voice, pulling her hair back from her face.

Her eyes are puffy and red.

I made her cry.

Again.

"Cristina." I repeat, stroking her cheek, my hand still tremoring slightly.

She opens her eyes and startles slightly.

I pull her close and she fights it for a moment.

I shush her, "You have to listen to me." I tell her in a near whisper. "Those things...those things I said, I didn't mean them. I didn't mean any of them."

No response. She just lays there in my arms, her body tense.

"I accused you of the very same things that I do myself. I expect you to tell me exactly what you want, when I can't tell you exactly what I want." I continue slowly.

She begins to relax a little, but still no response.

"I got angry with you for trying to preserve my career when I told you that the only thing I valued was my hands."

She looks up at me with those perfect eyes, her lips parted slightly.

"I held you accountable for things that were beyond your control. Things that I should've held myself accountable for."

She nods slightly.

"And I expected you to be there after the shooting, after everything went down by telling you that I wouldn't bear a grudge if you left, when what I really meant was I needed you."

"Burke..." she begins.

"No, let me finish. I needed you then, and I need you now. I need you in my life, now and forever. I need you to come home with me, and I need you to stay there. I need you to get through this. I can't take care of me. I said that I had to take care of me, but I can't take care of me. I need you to take care of me. I need to take care of you. I need you."

I find myself at the point of rambling, and I know what I need to ask her, but I can't find the words.

She closes her eyes for a moment, as if in deep thought, and she opens them again. "What are you saying, Burke?" she whispers.

But she knows what I'm saying.

She knows what I'm asking.

"Cristina, I want you to marry me."


	9. Chapter 9

"Y-y-y." I stop.

A look of hopefulness brightens his face.

The words won't form in my mouth.

I know what my heart wants to say.

But my tears have turned sour, and my sadness turned bitter.

"You're kidding right?" I finally force out of my mouth.

And hopefulness turns to hopelessness in a matter of mere moments.

"Cristina?" he questions in a low voice.

"Not even 6 hours ago, you were kicking me out of our apartment, and yelling at me. You called me stubborn and ignorant. And now you say you want to marry me?" I don't pull back from his arms, but I feel his grip loosen on me.

"Okay." is the only thing he can utter.

"I mean, Burke...seriously? You know how hard it was for me to say that we were a couple. We were having call-room rendezvous on a daily basis for nearly 6 weeks before you broke it off the first time, and it took me another week after that and everything else that had happened to even admit to myself that I had feelings for you. Then it took me 2 months to get rid of my apartment. Then it took me God knows how long to get comfortable with seeing you in the hospital the way you were after the shooting."

I pause only for a moment, putting my hand up over his lips to ensure that he says nothing. "Me, 'crossing the line with you'? It was the only way I can show my commitment to you, it's the only way I knew how. Me calling Dr. Hahn to protect your career from irreversible damage? My sign of commitment. But marriage? After this? I'm not ready to commit like that."

"So...where does this leave us?"

I bite my lip for a moment, running my fingers over the interlaced threads of my favorite green sweater of his.

It's the same sweater he was wearing whenever he said he loved me.

"I don't know. I think I just need time. I need time to think." I mumble, trying to leave my face as blank as the emotions that I'm feeling.

He nods curtly, his face wounded, and pulls himself away from me and stands up from the bed.

"I don't want us to be over Burke, but I'm just not ready. I just don't think I'm ready. I need time to recover from these things..." I sigh, guilt apparent in my voice.

"Come home?" he offers, holding his hand out.

I resist for a moment the idea of going home, thinking of staying with George, Izzie and Meredith for a while.

Then I come back to my senses and extend my hand for his.

He pulls me out of the bed and into his arms, "I understand that I hurt you. We've hurt each other."

I look up to him and nod slightly, unable to think of anything to say.

"But we can heal each other, Cristina. We do it every time. We are not a team, we are not a well-oiled machine, we are a couple."

"We are a couple." I repeat, my voice soft and steady.

He presses his lips against my forehead in a lingering kiss, and I feel light on my feet.

"Whenever you are ready to take the next step, Cristina, we will. I will not push you anymore than you need to be." he whispers, wrapping his arms around me. "I will wait until the end of time for you."

I bury my face into his chest, reveling in his presence, his tight embrace. "I'll take the next step eventually, Burke. I will. But I just need time now. I'm still an intern, and we're still in a controversial time in our life...our..thing we have."

"Relationship." he urges me.

"Yeah, that. I want to remember this next step in our relationship as a positive time. Not a move of desperation or something. We just crossed a line at work that we should've never crossed, we need to recover from that." I continue, "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying...it's just that..." My words trail off.

I feel guilty in a sense, and I don't understand why. I don't understand why I can't tell him that.

That's why I'm not ready to be a wife, because I can't tell him everything yet.

"Cristina, there's nothing to be sorry for. We've been crossing lines our entire relationship. We crossed the line between coworkers and friends. We crossed the line between interns and attendings. We crossed the line between single and together. We crossed the line between living together and living apart. We crossed the line between like and love. And there's still lines for us to cross, but this time...this time we'll do it together. One not pushing or pulling, but hand in hand, as one. When we are ready, we'll cross the line...together."


End file.
